


An Eagle in the Wind

by DebraHicks



Category: War of the Worlds (TV 1988)
Genre: Gen, Native American/First Nations Culture, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26640928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebraHicks/pseuds/DebraHicks
Summary: The aliens try a new chemical weapon.  When Harrison is caught up in it, it is up to Ironhorse and some radical ideas to try to save him.
Kudos: 2





	An Eagle in the Wind

Lt. Colonel Ironhorse glanced at the rest of the team across the empty parking lot. Not for the first time he wondered at the sanity of having civilians on a hazardous mission. The curly haired man standing next to the green van waved at him, signalling that he was ready to go. The fact that Blackwood was the only one following him in didn't make it any easier. 

The magazine snapped into the Uzi smoothly as Ironhorse conti nued his equipment check. Bending he strapped the double edged knife around his leg. A hand touched his shoulder, bringing his attention around. 

"Ready when you are," Harrison Blackwood said confidently. 

Ironhorse controlled his smile, kept the warmth out of his black eyes. He scanned the taller man before him; as he had expected Harrison was armed with only a scientific collecting kit. A frown creased the lean, handsome face. Reaching into the back of the jeep he pulled out an automatic, checked the clip, tested the slide, and held it out toward the scientist. 

Blackwood ignored it completely. "Are you sure everyone knows not to hit the vat until I can get a sample?" 

"My people have been briefed, Doctor," Ironhorse said firmly. 

"A scientist always checks details, Colonel." 

"I still don't like the idea of you going in with the first unit," Ironhorse complained. 

"Colonel," Blackwood countered, "we both know how fast some of these alien concoctions have evaporated. We have to have a sample if we're going to figure out what it is." 

Ironhorse sighed, knowing he was wasting his time arguing but giving it one more try. "You could instruct one of my men on the use of that vacuum cannister." 

Blackwood only gave him a shake of his head. "It's a little trickier than an Uzi..." 

"Don't be so damn patronizing, Doctor," the Colonel snapped. 

"I'm not being..." 

Sergeant Derriman appeared next to them, deliberately interrupting by holding out two gas masks. "The equipments' checked out, Colonel." 

Ironhorse nodded, took the masks, then retrieved a walkie/ talkie from the front seat of his jeep. "Omega move up. We go on my word in five minutes." He studied his watch. "Mark." 

The Sergeant moved off and Ironhorse turned back to Blackwood, watching him put on the mask and pull the straps tight. When the blue eyes met his through the plexiglass panel he could see the determination and fear. It was hard not to give in to the overwhelm ing desire to order Blackwood out of the area. But even stronger was the realization that the scientist, just like the soldier, had a job to do and fear for a friend could not get in the way. 

Ironhorse slipped his mask on, cut in the radio. "Blackwood?" 

There was no response and with a shake of his head Ironhorse reached over and flipped on the other man's radio. Harrison grinned sheepishly. 

"You have just become my shadow, Doctor," Ironhorse said firmly. 

Blackwood slapped him on the back. "Don't worry, Colonel. I won't breathe without checking with you." 

Ironhorse turned and the soldier was there, hard and ready, hoping that for once Blackwood woudl obey his orders but not really expecting it. After a year together the only thing predictable about the Doctor was his ability to get into trouble. They both knew their jobs, were both the best at what they did. His was to get Blackwood in to and out of the installation alive; Blackwood's was to analyze the newest weapon the aliens had come up with and find a counteragent. The thought of failure never entered either mind. 

"Moving into position," Ironhorse informed his men. 

They went across the parking lot toward the old plastics factory. The fence had already been breached and the elite unit followed their commander in, moving toward the concrete walls. The demolition units went next, doing their work quickly before joining the others away from the shaped charges. Acknowledgements sounded over Iron horse's radio. 

"Roger, Blue Leaders," the Colonel confirmed. His hands tight ened around his weapon. He gave a quick nod toward Blackwood. "Go! Go! Go!" 

Three explosions ripped around the large building. The soldiers were forcing their way through the gaps even before the last of the debris had rained down; gunfire starting immediately, blending with the echo of the explosions. The unit, as usual, was outnumbered but they swept through the disorganized aliens like a buzz saw. 

Ironhorse smiled ferally as he watched his men take the area. He moved, Blackwood directly behind him, as an opening offered a clear run to the huge tank settled in the back of the room. The place was dark, already covered with pools of slime that had been the enemy. Crouched and weaving they maneuvered to the vat. 

Blackwood dropped his pack, all his concentration centered on getting the special collection cannister in position. All the Colonel's attention was on sweeping sharp eyes over the room, guarding the other man's back. The demolitions officer moved up and started wiring an impressive array of explosives to the bottom of the tank. 

"Blackwood, are you sure this stuff will burn and not just spread?" 

"Colonel, that's the one thing I am sure of. Just use incendiaries and it will all...." 

"Down!" Ironhorse barked. 

The Colonel surged to his feet, Uzi throwing death into the catwalk above the vat. There was a high pitched scream and an alien tumbled to the floor behind them. Ironhorse crouched back down. 

"Almost," Blackwood told him. 

There was a soft hiss as the cannister's enclosed drill penetrated the thick metal. Seconds later the cannister was filled with a milky yellow substance. Another part inside the unit moved and the hole was sealed up. 

"God, Norton is wonderful," Blackwood claimed. 

Over Blackwood's shoulder the demo officer signalled thumbs up and retreated toward the door, trailing wire along the wall. 

"Now?" Ironhorse questioned, feeling very exposed. 

"Ready." 

"Harrison!" 

The alien loomed up behind the scientist, third hand closing around his neck. Ironhorse lunged, knife in hand, taking all three of them down, rolling. For a fraction of a second there was a few inches between the alien and it's intended victim; the knife flashed, striking down. There was a scream and the alien began to dissolve. Ironhorse grabbed Blackwood, pulled him away. 

There was a choking gasp from Blackwood. A torn mask seal flapped near his throat. Looking up at Ironhorse, Blackwood's blue eyes were wide in terror. 

"Hang on!" Ironhorse grabbed him by one wrist, moving to get him over his shoulder. 

"Nooo!" The doctor pushed him away. "No! Get away from me!" 

"Harrison?" 

Blackwood staggered back, fell to his knees in a pool of alien goo. "Get away from me!" 

"Doctor," Ironhorse's voice was calm despite his panic, "we've got to..." 

The dead alien's weapon was suddenly in Blackwood's unsteady hands. Ironhorse froze. 

"Harrison?" 

The shot took Ironhorse in the center of the chest, throwing him back against the vat. He slid to the floor, blinking at the haze that covered his vision, breath whistling into his lungs. He watched Blackwood stagger forward, fall to his knees then sprawl face down on the filthy floor. Two deep breaths cleared the haze, replacing the air expelled by the force of the bullet against his Kevlar vest. The Colonel made it to his hands and knees and crawled to Blackwood's side. Without wasting any time he staggered up, pulling Blackwood over his shoulder; he went down on one knee, bruising it though the thick fatigues. Almost as an afterthought he snagged the precious container with his free hand. 

The nearest gap seemed miles away in the darkness and gunfire, but Ironhorse got them through, weaving several more yards to the relative safety of the grass beyond the fence. He tried to ease Blackwood down but his leg gave way and they both fell heavily. 

"Blue Leader..." Ironhorse gasped into his open mic. "Blow it! Ambulance... south side... grass... stat." 

"Affirmative, Colonel." 

In the large building a massive explosion destroyed the aliens deadly experiment. 

Yanking off his mask, Ironhorse did the same for Blackwood. A shaky hand searched for a pulse, found the merest trace, but the board chest was still. Ironhorse tilted his friend's head back, and filled the empty lungs with air, ignoring the fire the deep breath started in his own chest. For a minute Ironhorse feared the taste of blood on Blackwood's mouth but there was only the bitter taste of fear. His head started to spin after four long breaths, the world turning dark around the edges. Behind him the ambulance screeched to a stop, medics running to replace him just as the blackness became complete. 

Ironhorse was pacing, limping, through the waiting area; the dearly paid for cannister spun in his hands. The double doors behind him swung open and Suzanne ran in, stopped short by the total lack of expression on his face. 

"Paul?" 

"The doctors are still with him." He cleared his throat, afraid of the next words. "He wasn't breathing when we got here." 

"Oh, God," Suzanne said softly. She took a close look at the man in front of her. "How are you?" 

"I'm okay," he waved it off. 

"Paul?" she chided gently. 

"Two cracked ribs and some nausea from.. from whatever the hell it was that Harrison got into." He stated it matter of factly, just as the doctors had quoted it to him. 

With a shake of his head he forced himself to remember the job. "Here," he handed her the cannister, "this is what Blackwood col lected. Analyzing it may help if the doctors have any questions." 

"What symptoms did he display after it hit him?" Suzanne asked clinically, taking the cannister and checking the seals. 

Ironhorse hesitated. "He was confused, scared; hell he was terrified. He tried to run and I made the mistake of getting to close." 

"He attacked you?" Suzanne asked in disbelief. 

"He shot me," the deep voice said sadly. "Then he went down." 

"Shot you! Harrison? Good God. The ribs?" She surmised, "You were wearing a vest?" 

"Whenever I can," Ironhorse confirmed. Softly he added, "I hope Harrison doesn't remember any of this." 

He started to pace but a hand on his arm stopped him. "Sit down, Colonel," Suzanne said firmly, "before you fall down." 

One eyebrow arched in response, but he sat down on the cracked vinyl couch. Suzanne disappeared for a minute and returned with two cups of lukewarm hospital coffee. They sipped it without comment. After another endless hour, the red doors opened and a haggard look ing doctor entered their silent world. The two team members came to their feet; Suzanne steadying Ironhorse as he swayed slightly. 

"Colonel Ironhorse?" 

"Yes." 

The man saluted. "I'm Captain Greeley." He motioned down the hall. "Could we talk in my office?" 

"How is he?" Ironhorse blurted. 

"This would be better discussed in my office." 

The walk was miles long to Ironhorse and he was exhausted by the time they reached the office. He sat down slowly in one of the large leather chairs, Suzanne taking the chair next to him. They exchanged quick, fleeting smiles of assurance. 

"Colonel, Dr. Blackwood has suffered a near fatal dose of an unidentified nerve gas," Greeley started. "He's on a respirator but is showing signs of breathing on his own. For now, the respirator will take some of the strain off his lungs." 

There was a slight pause. "It's his nervous system we're worried about. We ran a CAT scan when he was brought in; his neural acti vity was incredibly high and erratic. Now his brain waves are not reading as either a coma or a deep sleep." 

"What can we do?" Suzanne asked. 

"Can you give us any information on the gas?" Greeley requested. 

"Not yet," Suzanne answered. "But you'll have it as soon as humanly possible." 

"We can't tell you much else," Greeley concluded. "As far as we can tell he may sit up tomorrow with nothing more than a headache." 

"Or?" Ironhorse demanded. 

"Or he may never wake up." 

At the same instant Suzanne and Ironhorse's hands met, each seeking and offering comfort. 

"May we see him?" Ironhorse asked. 

"Yes, in fact, it might help if one of you were with him, talking to him, letting him know you're there." 

Ironhorse nodded. "I'll stay." 

"Paul..." 

"Suzanne, you have to analyze the gas," Ironhorse reminded her. "And Norton will have to help." 

"Colonel," Greeley argued, "you need to rest yourself." 

The Colonel stood up very straight, hands clasp behind his back. "Then put a bed in that room, Captain." 

The room was dimly lit, making the glow from the machines seem incredibly bright, the steady thump of the respirator even louder. Ironhorse stopped, afraid to go any further. Suzanne touched his arm lightly and they walked to the bed together. Blackwood was frighten ingly still and pale beneath the harsh green and red tubes helping him breath. 

Suzanne reached for Harrison's hand, lifting it in a strong grasp. "Hi, Harrison." Her voice cracked on his name, but when she conti nued it was even and clear. "The doctors say you're going to be fine. They're going to take you off the respirator tomorrow." 

It took a minute to work past the various monitors, but she managed to kiss him softly on the cheek. "I have to go. Paul is going to stay in case you get lonely. I'll be back." 

She turned, gave Ironhorse a quick hug. "Call if you need me. I'll call you when I have something." 

The door closed quietly behind her, leaving the Colonel standing in near darkness. He tried to move the single chair closer and immediately regreted it as his ribs screamed in protest. Pushing the chair closer with his leg, he eased himself down. 

Something deep inside him cried just a little as he studied the usually mobile face. Harrison looked somehow younger. 

"Were we ever young, Harrison?" Ironhorse wondered aloud. As Suzanne had, he took the limp hand in his. "This is one hell of a way to goldbrick, Doctor." 

The pain and worry all came down around Ironhorse at once. He let his head fall forward onto his outstretched arm. "Damn it, Harrison." 

"What I'm saying, Colonel, is that after two weeks there is nothing else we can do for him here." 

The Colonel took a deep breath. "What are you suggesting?" 

"He needs complete care, watching, bathing, therapy.." 

"What are you suggesting, Doctor?" Ironhorse repeated firmly. 

"A convalescent center." 

Ironhorse took a deep breath. "We'll take him home." 

"Colonel, I don't think..." 

"General Wilson will take care of all the arrangements." With that statement, he turned and went to Blackwood's room. 

The scientist had been moved from ICU into a private room and Ironhorse had left instructions for the curtains to be opened during the daytime. The respirator was gone but an IV remained. Blackwood lay has he had, looking thinner. They would have to put in a feeding tube soon, Ironhorse knew, the thought intensely depressing. He moved to his usual position by the bed. 

"Harrison?" For the hundredth time there was no answer to his question. Every question not answered cut a little more of his soul away. 

Suzanne and Norton had taken their turns at sitting and talking, but the mystery of the gas kept eluding them, dragging them back to the lab. Hours on the Cray, bent over the microscope and the chemi cal analyzer, had gained as much response as the vigils with Black wood. 

"What do I do now, Harrison?" he whispered to the sleeping man. "We've only just started this war. We need you." 

Logic told him that a center was what Blackwood needed, people who knew what they were doing; his heart told him that more than that Blackwood needed to be with people who loved him. He smiled to himself, not that he would ever tell Harrison that. His smile was wistful; maybe he didn't need to tell him. 

Staring at the peaceful features, he wished more than anything in his life that the wild blue eyes would open. Those eyes had seen into his soul; despite all he could do Harrison had seen past the soldier into the man, had offered him solace and compassion. Harrison had become his first friend, had come to mean more to him than life. 

The door behind him opened and he lay the cold hand down on the white sheet. Suzanne was standing just inside, the light from the hall making it hard to see her face. Ironhorse didn't need to see, her stance alone chilled him to the bone. 

They sat down on opposite sides of the table, Norton and Suzanne looking grim. 

"You've solved it, haven't you?" Ironhorse questioned. 

"Yes and no," Norton explained quietly. "Colonel, the formula causes three effects. But we're convinced that two are side effects that the aliens probably aren't even aware of." 

"The main effect," Suzanne picked up, "is that it causes respira tory paralysis. The violence is caused when the gas disrupts the nerve signals to the brain. The same thing is responsible for the uncon sciousness that occurs even before the breathing is stopped. If the victim is revived the other two effects are temporary." 

"Temporary? Then why is Harrison ...?" 

"He shouldn't be," Norton told him. "At least not physically." 

"It's the psychological effects of the gas that we're still checking. But it seems to affect areas of memory, altering them." Suzanne explained. "We think that whatever part of Harrison's memory has been lost or damaged is... well, too much for him." 

It took a minute for what she was saying to get through to Iron horse. When it did the breath caught in his throat. "You're saying that Harrison has retreated, that he's afraid of waking up?" 

"Yes," Suzanne agreed. 

Ironhorse was silent after that, thoughts going to the smiles he had shared with the taller man, the whispers before a dangerous mission, the feeling of belonging that swamped him when he was with Harrison. 

"No," Ironhorse said firmly. "Blackwood isn't the kind to retreat." 

"Normally, no." Suzanne agreed. Softly she added, "But he's trapped in a nightmare." 

Ironhorse whirled around, black eyes narrowed in consideration, staring at Suzanne. "You've both done very well. Excuse me, I still have some arrangements to clear up before we bring him home." 

Norton ran a hand along the smooth chrome guard rail on the empty hospital bed. Behind him Suzanne was checking the supplies that General Wilson had shipped them. The therapist was scheduled to arrive in the morning. Everything was ready; they only had to wait for Ironhorse to return with Blackwood. 

A sudden flash of memory made Norton swallow against a lump in his throat and wiped at his eyes. 

"Norton?" Suzanne questioned behind him. 

"I'm okay," he replied shakily. "I just remembered that February 17th will be five years for me and the Doc." He looked up, brown eyes very bright. "Do you think we'll get him back?" 

"Yes," she said confidently. "I think between Harrison and the Colonel there isn't anything they can't do." 

They were silent for a minute then Norton said, "I feel so useless sometimes, not being able to go into the field..." 

"That's ridiculous..." 

He held up his hand to stop her, a slight smile easing the depres sion on his face. "Then Harrison will give me the ol' thumbs up or our crazy Colonel will say 'good job..." 

"Or," Suzanne volunteered, "you and Harrison will pull something outrageous on the Colonel." 

"Which he will stoically ignore," Norton finished. 

The phone rang, causing Suzanne to glance at her watch. "Maybe that's Paul. He's late." 

Norton rolled to the desk and pushed a button, putting the caller on the intercom. "Hello." 

"Ironhorse here." There was an uncharacteristic pause. "We won't be coming back yet." 

"What's wrong?" Suzanne demanded. "Has something happened to..." 

"Harrison is fine," the deep voice reassured her. "But bringing him home won't help. I'm taking him some place that will. General Wilson will know how to contact me if there's any alien activity." 

"Paul..." 

"Trust me, Suzanne," Ironhorse pleaded softly. "I know what I'm doing. I'll call soon." 

"Wait, Colonel!" The line clicked dead. 

Looking down at Norton's confused, outraged look, Suzanne could only shrug. 

The vibration of the small plane tingled through Ironhorse's boots; he swayed automatically with the slight turbulence. In the pilot's seat Derriman slipped a tape into a portable cassette player and turned it up, strains of CCR filling the cabin. 

Ironhorse made himself as comfortable as possible next to the man strapped into the stretcher. To have something to do he checked the straps and IV, finally letting his restless hand lay against Blackwood's throat, letting himself be reassured by the steady pulse beat. 

"I'm taking you home, Harrison," he said quietly, "and then I'm bringing you home." 

The Cessna continued it's slow climb toward the Rocky Mountains. Four hours later it sat down at a private airstrip where a military ambulance met them. Ironhorse stretched, hating the long trip, the inactivity, but in another two hours they would reach their destina tion. Then the real journey would begin. 

A doctor and nurse stood beside the emergency entrance to St. John's Baptist Clinic. They were not sure what they expected after the phone call from the Pentagon, but it wasn't a single patient being escorted by a weary Lt. Colonel. 

"Dr. Favata?" Ironhorse questioned. "I'm Lt. Colonel Ironhorse." 

"Colonel Ironhorse." The doctor was lighthaired, with piercing blue eyes and wide shoulders. He shook hands then motioned to the nurse behind him. "This is head nurse Ruby Crow." 

"Ma'am," Ironhorse shook hands with the older woman. She barely came up to the Colonel's shoulder, her gray hair pulled tight under the white nurse's cap. 

They moved toward the stretcher. Blackwood lay as he had for eighteen days. Ironhorse's jaw tightened just a little as he told himself to be patient. He held his hand out to Derriman, received and passed on to the doctor a manila folder. 

"Medical records on your patient, Doctor. Dr. Harrison Black wood." 

"One of your men?" Ruby questioned. 

The question stopped Ironhorse for a second. It was such a ridiculous thought that Blackwood was anyone's man but his own. A very slight twitch of his lips was Ironhorse's only outward reaction. 

"No," he said softly. Pulling himself up, he said, "Dr. Blackwood is head of a special government research unit." 

"Is that why these records are incomplete?" Dr. Favata demanded, obviously not pleased. 

"There's enough," Ironhorse said firmly. "You'll only be taking care of him for a few days. I'll be moving him then. If you'll excuse me, I have to see to some other arrangements." 

"Colonel?" 

"Yes?" Ironhorse turned. 

Cool light blue eyes smiled at him in the man's best bedside manner. "Heaven forbid I try to tell the military anything, but it's almost 2100 and it seems to me that getting a night's sleep might help both of you more than trying to go some place tonight." 

Ironhorse glanced at his watch, rubbed his eyes. "I hadn't realized..." 

"We have a spare room," Ruby told them. 

"The Sergeant will take it," Ironhorse commanded. "You can put me in with Blackwood." 

For the third time in their teaming, Ironhorse kept a lonely watch beside Blackwood. He was gone before dawn the next morning. 

"Colonel! Where the hell are you?" Norton demanded over the poor connection. Despite it being only 5:00am, he sounded wide awake. "How's the Doc?" 

"He's with a doctor right now." Ironhorse felt a twinge of guilt over the slight lie. "We'll know more in a couple of days." 

Norton's impatience at the Colonel's evasion exploded. "Goddamnit, Colonel! Why can't you just tell us what's going on? If anything happens to Harrison because of this, because of you..." 

Suzanne grabbed the phone. "Norton!" She flipped on the inter com. "Colonel?" 

There was a long silence. In a tight voice Ironhorse said, "Suzanne, tell Norton that I would cut out my heart before I'd let harm come to Harrison." 

"We know that, Paul," she said softly. "It's just hard not knowing." 

"I know," Ironhorse took a deep breath. "I don't know if this is going to work. I don't want to get... I'll call soon." 

"Colonel?" Norton said, before he could disconnect. "I'm sorry about..." 

"Forget it, Mr. Drake. I understand." 

Suzanne stood for a minute, staring into space. 

"Suzanne," Norton sing-songed, "I know that look. What?" 

"The Colonel's first call, did you notice a strange background noise?" 

Norton didn't answer, turned and punched buttons on his console; immediately Ironhorse's first call filled the room. Both team members listened closely. 

"Something mechanical," Norton speculated. 

"Can you isolate it?" 

"Do aliens melt in the woods?" 

The town had changed little since he had last been there, a little more neglected, a little more worn. He hugged his jacket around him. It was too cold to snow but the places where it had been had melted and frozen over, making the walk treacherous. It was mid-morning; the only thing open was the wooden saloon. Three rusted pickups and two shaggy horses testified to early business. 

He could feel eyes on his back as he walked by. After thirteen years there would be few here that remembered him. What the men were seeing, he knew, was a city Indian, come to find his 'roots'; a stranger that would stay a few days, talk to the village shaman, buy a few trinkets and then retreat to the safety of the white man's world. A dog lunged against its chain as he passed in front of the general store. He ignored it and keep walking. 

The house hadn't changed, the paint was almost fresh, the small garden, though covered with ice, was still evident, at the side sat a mud-splattered Ford pickup. There was a statue of the Virgin Mary on an ancient stump in the fenced front yard. He pushed against the frozen gate, hesitated for a second then walked to the front door, knocking lightly. 

There was the sound of boots on hard wood, then the door swung open to reveal a large man, taller than Ironhorse, with gray hair peaking out from under a felt Stetson. A wide smile lit his face. 

"Ironhorse! Paul!" 

"Daniel," he extended his hand. 

The man swept him into a bear hug, swinging him around and into the house, kicking the door closed with his boot. "Maggie! Paul's here." 

A small, white haired woman appeared around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish cloth. She practically took Ironhorse from her husband's arms, still hugging him. 

"When did you get here?" she asked against his solid chest. 

"Are you hungry?" The man's deep baritone overrode her lighter voice. "Do you want to eat?" 

Ironhorse stood back for a moment to catch his breath, over whelmed by the exuberant welcome. "Maggie. I came in last night. No. And no. To answer all your questions at once." He smiled, a quick rare flash of white against the dark face. "And it's good to see you Maggie, Daniel." 

Maggie stepped behind him and tugged his jacket off. They took seats; the couple on the worn couch, Ironhorse in a newer recliner. "How are things, Daniel?" 

"Fine." He held his wife's hand. "We've become grandparents for the third time. Rachelle. They're in Houston now; Ron still walks the steel. Had a nice herd to market this fall." 

"Would you like something to drink?" Maggie interrupted. 

"Yes, thank you. It's a long walk from the clinic." 

"The clinic!" Maggie exclaimed. "Heavens, that's twenty miles, Paul." 

Ironhorse went blank, staring at the floor while Maggie and her husband exchanged quick glances. Rising silently, Maggie disappeared to retrieve the drinks. Ironhorse could feel the older man studying him. 

"You look tired, Paul," Daniel Farcannon observed. "What brings you back after all these years?" 

"I know I should come more often," Ironhorse started. "It's just..." 

A large hand waved. "Doesn't matter." In a quiet voice he asked, "It doesn't matter where you are as long as you remember." 

Solemnly, Ironhorse nodded, "I remember. And I've started to tell the stories to... someone else." 

"Your child?" 

"No, but someone very important to me." 

"That's good," Maggie said from the door, setting three mugs of hot chocolate down on the scarred table in the center of the room. "Why were you at the clinic?" 

Ironhorse took a sip and leaned back with the cup, sighing as the warmth crept down his tired body. The silence was comfortable and he wished that he could give himself to it, could just sit and visit with two old friends. But time was moving. 

"I need your help." He set the cup down. "For the past year I've been working with a special anti-terrorist squad. Our team leader was injured, gassed, in the last raid." He sighed. "The doctors think one effect of the gas has made him withdraw from... everything, to just refuse to wake up." 

The other two were silent, letting him talk. "He's been in a coma, asleep, for nearly three weeks. If we can't bring him back soon..." he forced the words out, "I think he may die." 

Daniel stood up, put his hand on Paul's shoulder. "I'm very sorry, Paul. But I don't see what we..." 

"I want to dreamwalk," Ironhorse said levelly. 

There was a quickly-drawn breath from the two others. The hand on his shoulder tightened. "Paul, no one's dreamwalked in decades." 

Through clenched teeth, Ironhorse said, "You have to know the ceremony; you're tribal shaman." 

There was a reluctant nod from the other man. "Yes, I know the steps but in all my years no one has asked it of me." 

Ironhorse stood in front of him. "I'm asking." 

"Paul, are you sure?" 

Black eyes stared into similar deep brown. "You do believe it can be done?" 

"Yes," Farcannon answered honestly. "I believe with a strong enough spirit it can be done." A hand touched Ironhorse's arm. "Are you strong enough, Paul?" 

"I need him," Ironhorse answered simply. 

Behind them, Maggie said quietly, "Sometimes need isn't enough." 

Nearly six hours later Ironhorse started back to the clinic. The instructions had been quiet clear from Daniel Farcannon on what he needed to do before the ceremony. The fasting he had expected; he hadn't eaten since the night before he'd gotten on the plane and was starting to feel it. He would rest until morning while Farcannon readied the sweat lodge. 

It was past dark by the time he reached the clinic. Light shone under the doors from the room Blackwood rested in and the room Der riman had taking. When the outside door clicked shut Derriman's door swung open. 

"Message from General Wilson, Sir." 

Ironhorse's head snapped around. "Aliens?" 

"No, sir," the Sergeant smiled. "He just called to wish you luck, Colonel." 

"Thank you, Sergeant. Goodnight." 

Derriman stared at him a moment. "If you need anything, Colo nel." 

"Thank you, Sergeant." 

Ironhorse went into the other room, watching Blackwood through his growing lightheadedness. He gripped one square shoulder. "Would you laugh at all of this, Doctor?" He asked softly. "The tough, pragmatic Lt. Colonel, about to try an ancient ceremony to get you back?" 

His hand moved to one pale cheek. "No," he corrected with the tiniest trace of a smile lifting one corner of his mouth, "you wouldn't laugh. It's one of the things that I... that makes you you." 

He would enter the lodge alone tomorrow, to purify his own spirit before he could join Harrison's. The idea terrified him. Once before he had sought the visions. They had led him to West Point, to the white man's army, to being a warrior. He had never regretted it, even during the nights in 'Nam. But that had been twenty-three years before and now there were dark things in his soul that he did not want to face. 

Outside the window the first large flakes of snow started to fall. 

Ironhorse stood on the highest ridge overlooking the valley. It was always beautiful after a snow, the white crystals covering the poverty, burying the despair. He dropped the wool blanket off his shoulders and stood naked before the wind and dawn light. Streaks of red, yellow, black and white decorated his body, stood out sharply against the dark skin. He started the chant to morning, stumbled over the words. Starting again, he struggled to feel the words, to let them blend with the hills and wind. The power around him grew with the light and the song. Turning, he picked up the blanket and crawled into the lodge, closing the flap behind him. 

The center stones glowed red, drenching him in a heavy sweat that ran over the paint. Spreading the blanket on the south side of the lodge, he sat down cross-legged and poured a cup of water over the rocks, sending a cloud of steam into the small area. He sang a chant to the roundness of the world, letting the words like the steam soak through the cold in his bones. 

With great care he poured half the bowl of herbs over the rocks, taking deep slow breaths. His eyes slid closed; there was a moment of dizziness and the visions took him. 

A single tree, full and green, sat in the middle of a dark landscape. A hawk, shoulders red with blood, sat on the highest branch; a black bird, a raven, flew up next to it. The hawk ignored the jester bird. 

From below there was a growl as a six-legged coyote circled, snapping at the living tree. The hawk lifted, wings catching the far sunlight, reflecting it back to brighten the dark world, illuminating the tree. 

The hawk fell to the attack and the raven followed. The raven changed, became another hawk, with shoulders of white. They dove together toward the enemy. But the coyote vanished in a cloud of black. The rapiers turned on wing, flashed up toward the starry sky. 

The one bird changed back to a raven, flying next to the hawk. But the hawk keep climbing, ignoring the other bird, going higher. They flew until the raven, exhausted, could not keep up, and fell back. At last the hawk turned, only to see the raven dead among the rocks. 

The tree turned yellow, then red, writhered and died. 

Ironhorse woke with a start, breathing hard. He had fallen onto his side, only the stiff blanket between him and the frozen ground. He struggled to a sitting position. 

One corner of his mouth moved very slightly; a raven, the trick ster, the joker, the sign of wisdom and cunning. He knew a blue eyed raven. Knowing not to think on the visions too long he reached for the bowl; cautiously, unsteady hands making the task difficult, he poured the last of the contents over the glowing coals. 

He was walking on a narrow ledge that reached toward a snow capped mountain, whiteness swirled like a whirlpool beneath him. A snake rose out of the white, black banded in red. 

"Who are you?" the snake questioned. 

"Lt. Colonel Paul Ironhorse." And knew it was wrong. 

Colors swirled around him, red, blue, black and white. The black became solid, took the shape of a woman. She was tall with blonde hair; her chest was covered in blood. The red formed into a boy, Vietnamese; blood covered his hands. He joined the woman and they cried together, singing the death song. With each word of the song Ironhorse felt his spirit die. 

"Who are you?" the snake repeated. 

"A murderer," the woman answered. 

He had no answer, felt his spirit grow colder, fading into the black and red. 

The colors swirled again, leaving only blue, the color of peace, the female color, the gentle color. The shape formed beside him and he knew before he turned. Familiar blue eyes shone at him; their warmth dispelling the cold, pushing life through him. 

"Who are you?" the snake questioned again. 

"He is mine," Harrison said, "We walk together." 

"Who are you?" 

"A warrior," Ironhorse said, knew it was right. 

The snake became the four colors, red, black, blue and white, mixing until only the white remained, shaping into another woman. She was singing the morning chant, smiling at them. Ironhorse knew her, the Mother, all the mothers and grandmothers back to the begin ning. 

"Who are you?" the mountain and the wind asked. 

"They are my sons," she answered for them. 

The shivering awoke him. The stones had given up their glow and the winter wind howled around the small dwelling. Inching closer to the meager remaining heat, Ironhorse warmed his hands before reach ing for the backpack setting on one side. He dressed, clumsy fingers having trouble snapping the jeans and dealing with the buttons on the flannel shirt. Once dressed he sang a final chant of thanks to the Spirit then took out a sandwich and broke his fast. The food dis pelled some of his dizziness, though three days without eating had left him weak. He sat for another half an hour, gathering his strength before crawling out of the lodge. 

After the vividness of the dreams the world was a place of black and white, of ice and dark mountains. It was still snowing, near dusk. He stood as he had earlier, snug in his coat, letting the last of the haze filter away into the cold air. Only then did he start down. 

The mountain trail was steep, covered in ice and he fell several times, collecting bruises and cuts. His breath colored the air in hard gasps by the time he reached level ground, and spotting the Ford nearby, he staggered for it. Daniel caught him as he fell, put him in the truck and carried the warrior home. 

Laying still, Ironhorse kept his breathing deep and even, imitating the rhythms of sleep while he sorted out his location. Memories flickered back - Farcannon's house, the same room where he'd recov ered from his first quest. 

"Paul?" Maggie asked quietly. 

"I'm awake." He sat up slowly, looking at the moonlight through the window. "How long?" 

"Almost midnight but it's the same day." With a smile she said, "Daniel says the Spirit must want this done soon. It was one of the shortest seekings he's ever seen." 

"Harrison," Ironhorse climbed stiffly to his feet. "I have to check on him." 

"There's been no change," Daniel spoke from the doorway. "I just got off the phone with Ken, Dr. Favata." 

"Ken?" Ironhorse questioned, taking the glass of water offered by the tall man. "Since when are you and the missionary doctors on friendly terms?" 

"Ken is different, he tries to understand. We've worked together on some of the old people." The shaman nodded to his wife. 

She stood, kissed Ironhorse on the cheek. "I'll fix you some soup." 

Daniel sat down, motioning for him to do the same. Ironhorse could see he was wearing a medicine bag under his shirt. The Stetson was gone, replaced by a simple leather headband. He would not ask Ironhorse about his visions; only a shaman's visions were discussed among others. But Daniel's presence was his way of letting Ironhorse know that he was there to help if he wanted to talk. 

"It was very short this time," Ironhorse started. His first quest had taken nearly thirty six hours. "There were only two." 

In careful detail he repeated the imagines; the single lamp seeming to cast flickering shadows like a campfire. Daniel listened in silence, even the wind was mute. When Ironhorse finished he nodded. 

"There are shadows in your eyes, Dawn Tracker," Daniel ques tioned softly, for the first time using Ironhorse's true name. 

Using the name demanded an honest answer. Black eyes stared up, glowing in the light. "It scares me. The first dream. If I deny Harrison, he'll die and everything with him. But to give my alle giance to one man..." 

"Such allegiances have always been honored among our people," Daniel reminded him quietly. 

"I know. But it's so different from the rest of my life. It was always the country, the mission, the unit. Never one man." Ironhorse was silent for a minute. "The second dream... We belong together. We are each other's strength. The earth is depending on us." 

Daniel's eyes widened just a little at the wording. "Paul, since your grandfather sent you to me, I have known that yours was a strong spirit, that there was something important for you to do. I think this is it. Besides," Farcannon said softly, "you've already made your decision or you wouldn't be here going through all this." 

Ebony eyes gleamed as Ironhorse thought of the past year, of hurting when Blackwood hurt, of laughter and comfort, and arguments. Very slowly the side of Ironhorse's mouth lifted in his soft smile. "Are you always right, Daniel?" 

"Of course," the older man slapped him on the shoulder. "Let's eat." 

Ironhorse stood to follow him into the kitchen. "I have to get back to the hospital." 

"Eat first, then I'll drive you back." 

"I can walk." 

Daniel stared over at him. "Paul, walking here and back yesterday was part of your seeking, but walking back tonight would be just plain dumb." 

Dr. Favata met them at the door, the look on his face immedi ately worrying Ironhorse. 

"What happened?" he demanded hoarsely. 

"His blood pressure's starting to drop." He grabbed Ironhorse's arm to keep him from rushing in. "He's stable but since it's the first change we've seen, I thought you'd better know." 

"Thank you," Ironhorse said tightly, moving into the room as Daniel and the doctor spoke quietly behind him. 

Ruby was in the room, obviously on continuous duty since the downward change. She moved silently out of the way when Ironhorse moved to her patient. Outwardly there was no difference but to Iron horse, after the vibrant powerful spirit in the dream, seeing Harrison so still was even more devastating. Swallowing hard, he blinked against the stinging in his eyes. 

"Soon, Harrison," he whispered, bending closer. "I promise, soon, the mist will clear." 

Daniel came up beside him. "So, this is Harrison." He reached out and touched the other man's hand. A faint smile, to Ironhorse's amazement lighted the shaman's face. "There is a strong spirit here, Paul." 

"I know," Ironhorse said proudly. 

"I'll put a smoke hole in the lodge, that way you can have a fire to help keep him warm." 

"This will work," Ironhorse said firmly. "I won't consider anything else." 

"Spoken like a true West Pointer," Daniel kidded. He squeezed one strong arm. "Get some rest, Paul, I'll be back before dawn." 

Despite his exhaustion, Ironhorse was unable to sleep, only dozing lightly a few times. He spent each waking minute listening to the even, swallow breathing of his friend. In the darkness, punctuated by the tiny monitor lights, Ironhorse smiled. After their first meeting, friend was hardly a word he would have thought to find himself asso ciating with the eccentric scientist. 

The emergency door buzzer sounded at 0300, jerking Ironhorse awake. He snagged his knife, resting on the floor beneath the bed, and moved silently into the waiting room. Derriman joined him, both jumping as the lights came on. Ruby stood behind them, frowning at their weapons. 

"This is an emergency room," she reminded them, starting for the door. 

Behind her Ironhorse motioned; he went left, Derriman went right, flanking the doors. 

"Better safe than sorry, ma'am," Derriman answered Ruby's dirty glance. 

She opened the door. "Yes? Can I help you?" 

Two very familiar voices, one female, one male, started at once. 

"Where looking for two men..." 

"I'm Dr. Suzanne McCullough and we're with..." 

Ironhorse stepped from behind the door. "Let them in, Ms. Crow. They're harmless." He turned away, letting the other's follow him. 

"Colonel, what the hell is going on?" Norton demanded. "In the past two days I've had to go through four major, security coded computers to find you!" 

"Where's Harrison? Why..." Suzanne got her first look at Ironhorse as they stepped into the harsh light of the waiting room. "My God, Paul, what have you done to yourself?" 

Ironhorse waved her away. "Not now, Suzanne. It's too long and too complicated." 

The small Sioux nurse appeared beside him. "He really should be resting." She looked at Ironhorse. "Shall I tell them?" 

"Later." He studied the two anxious faces. "They'll want to see Harrison first." 

The other two nodded seriously, following him into the quiet room. Suzanne was the first to ask the question he'd been dreading. "Has there been any change?" 

"Yes," he answered through clenched teeth. "His blood pressure dropped earlier this evening." 

Norton whirled his chair toward the Colonel. "Damnit, Colonel, what are we doing in the middle of a reservation when the Doc needs..." 

"Please, Norton, let Ruby explain it." Ironhorse pleaded softly. "I can't afford any distractions right now. One way or the other, it will all be over tomorrow. Please just let it run its course." 

Suzanne and Norton exchanged quick glances. In their year together they had never heard such desperation in Ironhorse's tone. 

"Okay, Paul, we'll talk to the nurse." Suzanne put her hand on the Colonel's arm. "Try to sleep. You look like you need it." 

Just as they started out, Ironhorse spoke firmly behind them, his tone lighter, teasing. "I won't ask which computers you had to breach to find us, Norton." 

Managing a smile, Norton said, "Smart move, Colonel." 

"Mr. Drake," Ironhorse added softly, "I'm glad you did." 

Two hours later Daniel Farcannon arrived to pick up his two patients. Ruby motioned him into the doctor's office. 

Dr. Favata stood up. "Daniel Farcannon, I like you to meet Dr. Suzanne McCullough and Mr. Norton Drake, the last two members of the Blackwood Project." 

"Happy to meet you." He shook hands firmly with the other two. "Did Paul send for you?" 

Suzanne actually managed a laugh. "Hardly. Fortunately, Norton can track just about anyone with his computer." 

"Especially since Ironhorse had to go through the military to get here," Norton added. 

"Mr. Farcannon..." Suzanne began. 

"Daniel." 

"Ruby and the doctor have explained the ceremony that Ironhorse is proposing." 

"It's long past proposing. Paul has taken the first step. And I'm here to take them for the last part." He frowned at the hesitant looks that passed between them. "You don't believe it will work." It was a statement, not a question. 

Again the other two exchanged quick glances. "It's not... in the past year we've seen things that I would have never believed possible." Suzanne told him. "It's just that we're worried about both of them." 

Daniel nodded. "I won't tell you not to worry. There is danger in this ceremony. Men have tried it and never recovered conscious ness, have never come back from where the dreams took them." 

"If we lose both of them..." Suzanne let the thought trail away as Norton took her hand. 

"Ironhorse has the strongest spirit I have ever met." Daniel told them with a smile, "And you're both strong. It's good that you're here." 

With that positive statement Dr. Favata stood up and slapping Daniel on the shoulder said, "Get your patients, Daniel. It'll be dawn soon." As the shaman moved out the doctor saw the looks of helpless ness that the other two Blackwood members wore. "Don't just stand there. You can help move Dr. Blackwood while he takes care of your Colonel." 

They emerged into the waiting room just as Daniel and Ironhorse arrived. Ironhorse had gotten two hours sleep and looked better than he had, though it would take a lot more than sleep to remove the weariness that was still evident. 

"Daniel," Ironhorse questioned, "can we have a minute before you move Harrison?" 

With a small smile he nodded. "I'll knock." 

Suzanne and Norton followed Ironhorse into Blackwood's room, drawn to the bed where Ironhorse stood protectively by his friend. No one seemed to know what to say for a few minutes. It was Suzanne who broke the awkward silence. 

"Paul, I won't pretend to understand what it is you're about to do. But Daniel said..." She looked steadily into the dark eyes. "If it comes down to losing yourself because you can't save Harrison..." Tears filled her eyes. "Please come back. We need you." 

He pulled her into a hug, extending his hand to Norton. "I can't promise that." He pulled back staring intently at them, eyes glittering with strength. "But whatever happens, please know that I will do my best." 

Ironhorse and Daniel went first, saving Blackwood from the cold as long as possible. It was just starting to lighten in the east, as they moved slowly through town, sliding on the new ice, bogging in the deeper drifts of snow. As they snaked pass the meeting hall, Iron horse noted the multitude of vehicles parked outside. 

"What's going on at the meeting hall at this hour?" 

Turning the corner slowly, Daniel pointed to the area behind the hall. A large fire blazed, surrounded by many people, some dancing, others sitting. Ironhorse rolled down his window; the chanting was loud in the cold. 

"They're singing the dawn chant." He looked over at Daniel, understanding that they were chanting for him, for his success. "Why?" 

"No one has tried this in a long time," Daniel said vaguely. 

"But I'm a city Indian and Harrison is white. Why should..." 

"You're a warrior about to dreamwalk." the shaman explained. "Many of them, especially the young, desperately want to believe in something. This is a chance to prove to themselves that the old beliefs are still worthwhile." 

Ironhorse was silent for a long time, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat. Conversationally he asked, "Is Maggie over there?" 

"No," Daniel said. "She and some of the other ladies have opened the church to hold a prayer meeting for you and Harrison." 

"Is that... proper?" Ironhorse wondered. 

Solemnly Daniel said, "Never turn down help, Paul." With a wide smile he added, "Besides, can't hurt." 

All kidding stopped when they reached the lodge a few minutes later. Ironhorse changed into the deerskins that Daniel had brought then sat in silence as the shaman applied the painted symbols and gave him his last instructions. Daniel's voice was low, rhythmic and the power pulsed through Ironhorse's spirit with each word. 

"You are a warrior, Paul Ironhorse. Remember that, it will serve you well. You must be patient with this enemy. Be like an eagle in the wind; an eagle rides the wind, uses it, scouts before attacking." He paused. "And an eagle does not make a kill every time. You must know when to pull out, when to try again." 

When the paintstick moved away, Ironhorse nodded. "I under stand." 

"Dawn Tracker," Daniel intoned quietly. "Go and gather your strength." 

Light was streaking west as Ironhorse climbed out of the lodge and walked away into the rolling landscape. Behind him Daniel moved down the steep trail to help Derriman and the doctor bring Blackwood to the lodge. 

As they took the heavy stretcher out of the old station wagon turned ambulance, a haunting chant reached them from the mountain. Suzanne looked up, unable to see anyone. 

"What is that?" Norton questioned. 

"Ironhorse," Daniel answered. "It's almost time." 

The chant carried a deep, ancient beat, went beyond logic and science, touching the spirits of the five people surrounding the vehicle. The wind didn't carry it away, but joined it, stirring visions from many different pasts. 

"Let's go," the shaman commanded. 

Suzanne looked pleadingly at Norton in the front seat. The computer expert smiled, understanding the question, touched her hand. "Go. One of us should." 

She leaned in and kissed him quickly, then chased after the others as they scrambled up the steep incline. At the top the lodge had been banked against the cold, made to blend with the mountain. Shivering in the morning cold she watched anxiously as Daniel lifted Blackwood off the stretcher. With the doctor holding his legs, Daniel knelt and they maneuvered the unconscious man inside. As Daniel came out a figure appeared next to the dwelling, outlined against the first blinding rays of the sun. 

Suzanne took an involuntary breath. It was not Lt. Colonel Paul Ironhorse who stood before her. This man was a mystic warrior, power blazing around him, glittering in the black eyes brighter than the morning light. Without a word he crawled into the lodge, closing the blanket behind him. 

"We can wait at the car," Daniel told them. 

"How long will it take?" Suzanne asked in a hushed voice, still overwhelmed by the unexplained power. 

"There's no way to know." With a frown the shaman added, "It could take days." 

Ironhorse again sat cross-legged on the frozen ground, staring into the small fire. He leaned over Harrison, tugging the heavy blankets tighter. Reaching for the bowl of herbs, he stopped and moved closer to his companion, resting one hand on his shoulder. The warrior in him knew that he did not need the physical contact, but the man about to try the impossible did. He sang the dawn chant, poured the herbs and waited. 

A strange world opened around him, shadowy, like a moonlit foggy night. Figures appeared, he saw himself and Harrison in the Cottage; Harrison was arguing, screaming. Ironhorse had never heard such anger in the deep voice. Parts of the argument reached him, distorted. 

"Goddamn you, Colonel!" Harrison yelled. His fist lashed out, knocking the other man over the desk. 

Ironhorse jerked. It wasn't right! This was not how it had been. It was a memory, but it was altered, perverted. Harrison had never hit him. Never. The scene shifted. Ironhorse pushed his speculations aside, let himself drift. Another warped memory -- Harrison, gun in hand, shooting into the dark. Ironhorse maintained his distance, trying to see the pattern, the cycle. The memories were in no order, assault ing him like a movie on fast forward. 

He saw a small boy watch his parents die and wanted to cry with him. He watched a man wander, lost and scared, searching for the woman he loved and not finding her. He watched a man, addicted without his knowledge, begging for relief, then striking out as he hadn't in real life. Images of death, loss and longing. And each image brought a layer of despair that smothered Ironhorse's spirit. Another scene flashed before him. 

A dark building, two men facing each other; Harrison holding a gun. In the altered memory Blackwood raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The shadow Ironhorse was slammed backwards, blood splatter ing his chest, coloring the world red. Ironhorse gasped, almost raised a hand to his chest but his own discomfort vanished as Harrison sank to his knees, gun falling hollowly to the floor. A single scream, compounding all the anguish in one man's life echoed through the dreams and memories. 

With willpower he didn't know he possessed Ironhorse held the image as Harrison fell across the bleeding body, then curled sideways into a fetal position, safe from the world. For a fleeting instant Ironhorse wondered if he had the right to drag him back to the pain and fear, to battles lost in a never ending war. Light wavered, and the images started over again. Even here there was no peace. 

Ironhorse retreated, needing to think. Somehow he had to change the memories back, comfort the pain. But he knew instinctively that it would be suicide to fight all the chemically altered images. He would have to choose one. 

He returned to the images in Harrison's mind. Another cycle of painful memories went by as he watched and judged. For the small child he could do nothing; the deaths were bitterly real and would have to remain. So too, for the dark night that Karen had vanished and the day they had lost Kensington. But for the man pleading for the forbidden music... 

Taking a deep breath Ironhorse relaxed, drifted, joined the memory. 

"Please... just a taste... I need it!" Harrison's head fell into his hands. 

Giving into the feelings he'd fought then, Ironhorse went to his knees beside Harrison, wrapped himself around him, holding tight. 

"It will be well, Harrison." 

The simple statement caused an explosion of violence. Harrison jerked away, hitting him, knocking him back. "No! You're no help! Damn you!" 

Staggering up, Ironhorse reached for him. "This is not the way it was! You must listen..." 

The image flickered, space closed around Ironhorse, choking him. He fought, trying to breathe, heart pounding. Through the darkness the wind touched him, bringing life. He gave himself to his own dark ness, relaxing into the wind. His breathing steadied, eased and he smiled wryly. The eagle had missed and the ground was unforgiving. Still, even as Harrison's despair had swamped him, he'd felt the slightest crack in the wall, seen a streak of silver in the black. He understood his mistake; he needed to be the wolf, not the eagle, to wear his prey down, slowly bring him to ground. 

He returned to the memories. 

"We failed." Harrison said though tight lips. 

"We only fail if we give up," Ironhorse told him. 

"I'm sick and tired of your simplistic, John Wayne platitudes, Colonel!" 

Ironhorse saw the blow coming, dodged back, grabbed Harrison in a bearhug to keep him for trying it again. The image wavered, solidi fied. 

"Harrison," Ironhorse said intently, "please listen to me." 

The crazed blue eyes cleared, stared down into the eyes of his friend. "Paul?" 

Joy flooded Ironhorse. "Yes!" 

"No! No!" Harrison knocked him away. "I won't!" 

The image flickered and even though he was ready, Ironhorse felt his strength drain under the shift. He knew he had to be relentless but careful. 

Depression so deep it was like walking into an open tomb. Harrison sat at the edge of a lake; moonlight dancing on the calm water. He was staring into the distance. Ironhorse wasn't sure what had happened to prompt the depression. 

"Harrison?" 

"Colonel." The answer was low, Harrison didn't turn around. 

"Tell me." 

A sharp shake of the curly head. "You don't want to hear it, Colonel. It's not something that would fit your idea of a man." 

"Tell me, please," Ironhorse asked softly. 

"I'm scared, Paul. I'm always so scared of losing one of you." 

Ironhorse winched. "Harrison, you're one of the bravest, strongest men I've ever known." 

The head rose just a little and the moonlight shone on a single tear that tracked down the drawn cheeks. 

"Will it end, Paul?" 

"Yes," Ironhorse said honestly. "But we need you to do it." 

Harrison held a hand toward him. Ironhorse reached for it, not daring to hope. The image faded. 

"No!" Ironhorse screamed. "No!" 

He'd been so close! If he'd just been able to touch the out stretched hand... His heart was pounding like he'd run a cross country marathon, his strength fading. There would be only one more try, after that he would be too weak to break away. He'd be trapped as firmly as Harrison in the endless cycle. 

The image he dreaded, the most powerful one, would be his last try. A shiver of fear went through his spirit. It was possible that he wouldn't have to worry about being trapped. If he was too weak to break away, the image could kill him. With a single line of chant to the Spirit he went with the image. 

The smell of acid and death, silence. Harrison was in front of him, reaching for the gun. 

"Harrison." 

Painfilled, frightened eyes met his. "Go away, Paul, please." 

"No." Ironhorse concentrated, letting the wind and the dawn and the power from them flow through him. "Harrison, come with me." 

"No... I can't..." The weapon shook in his hand. "I don't... want to go..." 

"Yes, you do." Ironhorse stood his ground. Harrison would have to come to him. 

"Everyone dies." Harrison said lowly, the gun lowering. "There's no one left." 

"Suzanne, Norton, Debi, they need you. They love you." 

"No!" The pistol came up, pointed at his chest. "No... I kill the people I love." 

The power went through him, giving and demanding the truth. "I love you." 

"I killed you." A sob cut into Harrison's voice, the despair fatal. 

"No, I'm here." Ironhorse argued gently. "You wouldn't hurt me, Harrison." 

The gun shook, lowered. Ironhorse smiled, obsidian eyes bright. "Come to me, Harrison." 

The curly head shook but there was no conviction in it. 

"Come to me," Ironhorse whispered. 

The weapon clattered to the floor. "Paul?" 

Ironhorse extended his arms. For an eternity they stood, then Harrison came into the waiting arms. The bigger man trembled beneath Ironhorse's hands, hot tears soaking his shoulder. 

Holding him tightly Ironhorse reached toward the light, toward reality -and faltered. His strength was gone, willed to the man in his arms. He couldn't take them both back. Panic started, was pushed away. If he pushed Harrison... 

"Harrison, I'm sorry... I can't do it... you'll have to go without... 

Harrison looked up, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He smiled at Ironhorse, the crazy smile that he got when something was very right. 

"I'll paddle," he said vaguely. "You steer." 

Arms tightened around Ironhorse's waist. Life flooded him, fanning the dying embers, energy crackling around them. 

Ironhorse's hand tangled in the tight curls. "We're going home, Harrison." 

There was ground beneath him. He had one hand clenched in his lap, the other wrapped around Harrison's shoulder. Ironhorse opened his eyes, vaguely registering daylight, but all his attention going to his companion. Crystal blue eyes looked back at him. 

"Hi." Harrison's voice was a dry whisper and the most wonderful sound Ironhorse had ever heard. 

Ironhorse reached for Harrison but his strength gave out and he ended up sprawled over him. He let his head fall forward onto the blanket covered chest, tears running unheeded down the dark, lean cheeks. 

A shaky hand reached out and wiped them away. "Glad to see me?" Harrison smiled weakly. 

The ordeal was catching up with them, dragging them into sleep. But Ironhorse had enough energy left for one final gesture - he threw his head back and cried their victory to the wind and the mountain. 

They walked slowly, breath coloring the cold February afternoon. Ironhorse stayed close, not offering help, but there if Harrison stumbled. Three weeks bedridden had taken its toll, leaving the taller man fifteen pounds lighter and weak enough that, five days later, he still needed a cane. But they had been cleared by both Dr. Favata and Daniel Farcannon to go home the next morning. Suzanne and Nor ton had been forced to return two days after they came off the moun tain. 

To Ironhorse's surprise, Harrison had became restless almost as soon as he had. Without a computer and lab to keep him busy, the scientist had wanted out of the small clinic. Nature had cooperated, turning unseasonably warm and with Ironhorse recovered enough to drive, they had taken to the mountains to walk and relax. Most of the time they had travelled in silence, close and comfortable. 

"I'd like to come back," Harrison said suddenly. 

Ironhorse snapped his attention away from the small, half frozen stream in front of them. "What?" 

Harrison smiled at him. "I said, it would be nice to come back, maybe in the spring." He looked closer at his friend. "You were a million miles away just now, that's rather rare for you, Colonel. Is something wrong?" 

"No," Ironhorse said with just the slightest trace of a smile, "I was just wondering how long it's going to be before you start asking questions." 

Easing himself down on a large boulder, Harrison leaned the cane against the rock. Conversationally he asked, "Has it occurred to you that I might not have to ask? That I might remember everything?" 

One eyebrow arching in surprise, Ironhorse asked, "And do you remember everything?" 

"Not all of it," Harrison admitted. "But enough to know what you did. The kind of courage it took to do it." 

"Wasn't much courage involved, mostly desperation." Ironhorse said lowly. 

Trying to look hurt, Harrison said, "I could find that insulting." 

"I didn't mean..." Ironhorse stopped as he saw the twinkle in Harrison's eyes. He smiled, the soft smile Harrison had learned to treasure for its rarity. 

A shiver ran though Harrison. Ironhorse stood up. "We'd better get back. I don't want you coming down with pneumonia after all this." 

"Not yet," Harrison said quietly. "Paul, you don't think I... stayed there on purpose, do you?" 

Ironhorse understood the real question. "Harrison, it's hard enough having to live with the real memories. No one could have fought those... perverted lies alone." 

Harrison nodded thoughtfully. Ironhorse stepped away a little, stretching in the brilliant sunlight, letting the silence stretch out again. 

"Paul?" 

Something in Harrison's tone brought Ironhorse around to face him. Ebony met brilliant blue. "Yeah?" 

"I don't know many shamans but I'd find a way to get you back." 

"I have no doubt about that, Harrison." Ironhorse nodded very solemnly. "You never cease to amaze me."


End file.
